


Sing, Antoninus

by Pameluke



Category: Spartacus (1960)
Genre: Freedom, M/M, Pining, Poetry, Slavery, Third Servile War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 02:57:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7149959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pameluke/pseuds/Pameluke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To sing beautiful things, and make people believe them</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing, Antoninus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



_Do you steal, Antoninus_ , Crassus asked. Antoninus said no, he had never stolen before, the risk not worth the trouble. His former Master had treated him well. But children grow, teachers lose their worth, and Antoninus had been sold. Crassus had no children, had no need of a teacher. He was a cat playing with a mouse, the Master who wanted a slave for dinner. Antoninus has been running for three days, and yet he still looks over his shoulder, expecting Crassus’ men to be right behind him. It is Crassus' face Antoninus sees behind every tree and bush. It’s his voice haunting him in dreams when he finally allows himself some sleep. If Crassus were to catch him and ask again, Antoninus would have to answer differently. He’d stolen himself away. 

 _Do you lie, Antoninus_ , Crassus asked. Antoninus denied that question as truthful as possible. Slaves have their own truth - the only right answer is the answer the Master expects, any other truths are not of import. He’d never had to lie with his former Master, but Crassus seemed like the kind of man who accepted nothing but his own truth, his own expectations of how the world was supposed to be. Crassus expected the world to be his, and the expectation was a heavy weight on Antoninus shoulders, choking him with the neverending pressure.  
He didn’t lie, he hadn’t yet, but it was only a matter of time.

_Do you eat snails,_ Crassus asked. Antoninus told his first lie, layered in truths. The truth was that he had indeed eaten snails, once, as a treat from his former Master. The lie was the implication he didn’t understand the meaning Crassus actually intended. The truth was Crassus intentions were clear, but so far seemed willing to be deflected. The lie was the denial of preference. A slave couldn’t say no, but Antoninus refused to consent. The truth was that Antoninus wasn’t interested in snails when they wore Crassus face. The lie is what bought him time.

_Why do you run_ , Crassus asks in his dreams. Antoninus never answers, and wouldn’t know how to respond were Crassus to ask him. There’s no truth that would satisfy a Master whose slave has run. There’s no lie that would appease Crassus, who sees himself as a benevolent ruler of all that is his. Crassus had seen Rome’s might and made that might his. Antoninus had seen Crassus and knew he couldn’t win that fight.  He keeps running.

_What will you do_ , Crassus asks in his dreams. He used to be a singer of songs, a teacher of words. Poetry his answer when his own thoughts weren’t fit for the Master's ears. Crassus hadn’t wanted Antoninus’ words, Antoninus songs’, or Antoninus’ poetry. Crassus was like Rome, never satisfied, desire forever expanding. He’d owned him, but that wasn’t enough, he’d wanted to own Antoninus body, to own his thoughts, to own his desire.

So Antoninus runs, and recites poetry to the open skies and the empty fields. 

 

 _ why, so the lamb leaps from the raging wolf, _  
_and from the lion runs the timid faun,_  
_and from the eagle flies the trembling dove,_  
_so the slave runs from the Master cruel,_  
_all hasten from their natural enemy  
[I]_

_Is this your Rebellion_ , Crassus asks, mocking him while awake. The slave camp, it is nothing like he expected. He didn't have any expectations, really, just a vague idea of freedom, a concept so strange and foreign to him, he still doesn't feel free. Nobody has told him what to do for more than two weeks, and yet he only feels unmoored, driftwood cast away by the sea. He has no purpose but to run and stay safe from Crassus' clutches. But if fear of Crassus is what drives him, is he truly free from Crassus?

_What work did you do_ , Spartacus asks. Antoninus lies by ommission, refusing the truth of having been Crassus' bodyslave. This Spartacus doesn't behave as a slave. He laughs, he teases, he is commanding. He has the body of a warrior, a god, and his eyes are harsh and all-knowing, even when he smiles. Antoninus doesn't see how this man could ever have been shackled. But Antoninus is wary, he ran away from a man with eyes like that. So he says he was a singer of songs, which is a truth. After all, Antoninus is free, he can be what he wants.

_Maybe he can make the Romans dissapear,_ Spartacus mocks him. Antoninus burns. He has been nothing but a tool to the Romans, made into a faunt of knowledge to teach children, thrown away when those children had grown. Desired for his body instead of his mind by his next Master. Now he's free and he's still nothing but a Roman tool, a teacher of Roman tastes. He's useless for these men who are used to use their bodies as tools, their hands as weapons. He burns with shame and anger and disappointment. Antoninus is free, but he's still thrown away.

_Sing us a song,_  Spartacus asks. He'd tricked Spartacus in breaking an egg over his own head. He expected to be punished, but instead he got laughter, applause and appreciation. He'd trained with these people all day, learned to fight, learned to hurt. They'd battered and bruised and beaten each other, but here they were, laughing by the fire, together. He can learn to use his body, and they can learn to appreciate his mind. And maybe Antoninus can belong here with these fellow slaves, these fellow people.

He sings them a song.

 

 _When the blazing sun hangs low in the western sky_  
_when the wind dies away on the mountain_  
_when the song of the meadowlark turns still_  
_when the field locust clicks no more in the field_  
_and the sea foam sleeps like a maiden at rest_  
_and twilight touches the shape of the wandering earth_  
_I turn home._  
_Through_ blueshadows _and purple woods_  
_I turn home._  
_I turn to the place that I was born_  
_to the mother who bore me and the father who taught me_  
_long ago, long ago_  
_long ago._  
_Alone am l now, lost and alone, in a far, wide, wandering world._  
_Yet still when the blazing sun hangs low_  
_when the wind dies away and the sea foam_ sleeps  
_and twilight_ touches _the wandering earth_  
_I turn home.  
[II]_

 

_Read me these letters,_ Spartacus asks. Antoninus reads, teaches Spartacus about maps, about Italian geography, about sea currents and seasonal winds. He teaches Spartacus about Roman history, mostly about military conquests and the strategies behind them. He teaches him about Roman formations. Spartacus is the best pupil Antoninus ever had. He wants to learn, wants to understand, and isn't afraid to think for himself. The student soon surpasses the teacher, but still Spartacus seeks his company, asks his advise, demands a song. Antoninus burns, but this time with pride. He is needed. He is useful. He is wanted, for body and mind.

_Teach me to sing,_ Spartacus asks. Antoninus teaches him the songs his father taught him, the songs his mother sang him to sleep with. He teaches him stanza’s from classic epic poetry, and dirty rhymes from the Roman streets. Spartacus has no talent for whimsey, nor the voice for reciting poetry. But it fills the evenings with laughter after planning against hope, it fills the nights with merriment after bartering with pirates. For a moment war, nor the Romans, are on their minds. For a moment they are truly free, together at peace. 

They share wine from the same cup, laughter echoing in the night. Antoninus' heart swells, and they sing into the night.

 

 _To fight with wine-cups intended for pleasure_  
_only suits Thracians: forget those barbarous_  
_games, and keep modest Bacchus away_  
_from all those bloodthirsty quarrels of yours._  
_The Persian scimitar’s quite out of keeping_  
_with the wine and the lamplight: my friends_ restrain  
_all that impious_ clamour _, and rest_  
_on the couches, lean back on your elbows.  
[III]_

 

_Teach me to fight,_ Antoninus wants to ask, but doesn’t dare. Spartacus sees him as a man for beautiful things, not a man for destruction. He has learned to fight, no longer stumbles through his movements. But he’s far from a soldier, and it’ll never be enough. Antoninus has seen Rome’s might, has seen Crassus’ determination. Rome will come, and once they’re within reach they will keep coming. Like a sea rolling onto a coast, wave after wave, eating away the rock. They need more time to make it to the coast in time. Time is all Antoninus wants. More time with Spartacus, time to teach, time to learn, time to laugh and to be free. He wants to fight for that.

Antoninus sings to himself for courage, alone on his watch.

 

 _ Antoninus, just ask, we never know, what fate the gods grant us, _  
_whether your fate or mine, don’t waste your time on Babylonian,_  
_futile, calculations. How much better to suffer what happens,_  
_whether Jupiter gives us more winters or this is the last one,_  
_one debilitating the Tyrrhenian Sea on opposing cliffs._  
_Be wise, and mix the wine, since time is short: limit that far-reaching hope._  
_The envious moment is flying now, now, while we’re speaking_  
_Seize the day, place in the hours that come as little faith as you can.  
_ [IV]

_Teach me to fight,_ Antoninus asks. In 26 years it’s the first time he demands something for himself, and his hearts beats with it. Spartacus looks at him, and Antoninus sees the refusal in his eyes. The rejection burns. It must show on his face, because Spartacus nods his consent. Spartacus alters his grip, shows him how to weigh the gladius in his hands, how keep it sharp. He shows him how to set his feet for balance, how to move his feet with speed. They spar, they fight and grapple. Antoninus loses, Spartacus the stronger, faster, better fighter. Better man. Antoninus wins, he gets more time.

_Why do you want to fight,_ Spartacus asks. Antoninus has many answers. The truth is, the better he can fight, the better they all can fight, the better their chances. The better he can fight, the more time they can steal. It's only part of the truth. Another part, the first truth maybe, is that he wanted to fight because he was taught not to. He wanted to fight because he hated the Romans, hated Crassus, and here was the chance to finally object. He wanted to fight because he was a free man, and fighting is what he wanted to do with his freedom. Still, the third part of the truth, was the truth Antoninus long denied himself. He wants Spartacus to teach him to fight, because he wants to steal more time with Spartacus. Hands grappling his thighs, breath rough on his neck, smile sharp in the night. They fight, Antoninus wants, and he burns with it.

_Snails or oysters,_ Antoninus doesn't ask. The answer doesn't matter, and it's not the kind of game they play. They'll leave Vesuvius soon, time is running out on them. But still they train after the sun has set, and still they sing after their bodies are exhausted. There's nothing left to learn. Antoninus will never be a fighter, Spartacus will never be a singer of songs. It doesn't matter, because they are free men who once were slaves, and they make their own choices. Antoninus chooses to kiss Spartacus. Spartacus kisses him back. Hands grappling his thighs, breath rough on his neck, smile sharp in the night. Sex is a lot like fighting. Laughter echoing into the dark, wine shared from the same cup, kisses making their heart swell. Sex is a lot like singing.

_Is this happiness,_ Antoninus asks the sky. The sky doesn't give an answer, but Antoninus doesn't need one. This is freedom.

A storm is coming, bringing with it the Romans, and Antoninus sings.

 

 _A dreadful storm has contracted the sky, and the driving rain_  
_And snow_ bring _Jupiter to earth: and now the sea and the woods_  
_Resound with the Thracian northerly. My friends let us seize_  
_The chance that the day now grants us, and while our limbs are strong_  
_And it’s right, banish all seriousness from our clouded brows._  
_Don’t speak of those other things: the god perhaps with kindly_  
_Fortune, will make them subside. Now’s the time to delight.  
[V]_

 

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  I. P. Ovidius Naso, Metamorphoses, Daphne and Phoebus, [translation from Perseus.](http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.02.0028%3Abook%3D1%3Acard%3D452)   
>    
>  II. The poem Antoninus recites in the movie.   
>    
>  III. Q. Horatius Flaccus, Odes, BkI:XXVII Entanglement, [translation by A.S. Kline.](http://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Latin/HoraceOdesBkI.htm#anchor_Toc39402033)   
>    
>  IV. Q. Horatius Flaccus, Odes, BkI:XI Carpe Diem, slightly adapted from a [translation by A.S. Kline.](http://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Latin/HoraceOdesBkI.htm#anchor_Toc39402017) All crimes against metrum are mine.   
>    
>  V. Q. Horatius Flaccus, Epodes, Epode XIII Defying the Storm, slightly adapted from a [translation by A.S. Kline.](http://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Latin/HoraceEpodesAndCarmenSaeculare.htm#anchor_Toc98670061) All crimes against metrum are mine.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> All poetry used is part of the public domain, translations available for non-commercial use.  
> All of the poetry used dates from after Augustus, so I hope you don't mind that I handwaved timelines a bit regarding the poetry.
> 
> I apologize severely for the freedoms I took with some of the original texts. It's been over two decades since I studied Latin, and metre and rhythm in English proved to be challenging.


End file.
